


Pogonophile

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, F/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Morning After, Tumblr Prompt, Vague spoilers for 3x07-3x09 and what will likely be au on the end of the season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her smile dawned slow and Cheshire-wide across her face. Muffling a peal of laughter into the inner of her palm as he slept right through the warm, low-simmering hilarity of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pogonophile

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The 100. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Anon on tumblr asked for: "Kabby getting beard pleasure!" – Set in what will likely be an au of the end of season three and how everything ends up turning out with the Grounders and Arkadia. Vague spoilers for 3x07 to 3x09 – but this was written before 3x09 came out so please keep that in mind for anything that differs canon wise.
> 
> Warnings: morning after type fic, mild sexuality, mild language, this is mostly just a bit of semi-serious silliness for a silly little prompt so don't judge me.

Lexa had fallen.

Pike was dead.

The Coalition was in shambles.

And Marcus Kane was sleeping.

_Finally._

When they'd found each other stunned and filthy in the middle of the battlefield, they hadn't had time to quantify what they were or where they stood. Especially not after that frantic mess of a kiss before she'd been forced to watch people she'd known since childhood drag their best chance at making peace away under the order of a man who wanted only death and blood. A man who had no room in his heart for compromise or mercy - who seemed blind to the way history was repeating itself. A man who's leadership would kill them all – not today, not tomorrow - but eventually.

It wasn't about who wore the pin.

They were past that.

It was about having a future.

A future they were worthy of having.

_All of them._

She wasn't sure how he'd gotten free. In the end she supposed it didn't matter. All that she _was_ sure of were the feelings bubbling up in the back of her throat like tear-tinted laughter when she'd ran at him. Feeling him absorb it - everything she had to give - before he surprised her by gathering her up. Bringing her right into the very center of him despite the crowd milling around them. Their people. The grounders. _Everyone_. Burying his face into her neck and slicking her skin with hot tears of relief and exhaustion until they flooded down the curve of her like a balm. Unable to help but return them as she murmured wordless sounds into his hair. Kissing what she could reach and whispering promises to the rest as the world turned and changed.

Because their people?

The Grounders?

They'd finally listened.

Right when it'd mattered the most.

She'd watched it happen. Catching a glimpse of him through the haze of black smoke and wounded screams. Tossing his gun aside to stand in the middle of the churned up ground. Forcing a stunted quiet from the crowd when he ripped up his sleeve and showed his brand again, this time to both sides. Pleading and emotive in a way she would have never believed when they'd still lived on Ark.

Parleying for life.

For peace.

For reason.

Compassion.

_Love._

For a future.

_A future for all of them._

She would remember that moment until the day she died.

They'd come so far and now- here they were.

It was a powerful, heady thing.

How people can change if they're given the chance.

_Given a reason._

Because the truth was, they'd both changed.

She shifted beside him, languid and pleasure-lazy. Watching through slitted lids as he slept on, oblivious. A mussed up mess of dark hair, dark beard and sleep-hollowed eyes. Familiar and hers. There was something excitingly intimate about it. Something that tightened that little ball of _something_ that had been growing in her chest for a while now.

He held her captive with every solitary second. The two of them existing fully in each other's space. One awake. The other still dreaming. Rasping the growingly wild, brown-silver tint into the pillows as her thighs rubbed together like a counterpoint. A steady staccato rhythm as the low throb of beard-burn hissed pleasantly between them.

She didn't bother shuttering her smile when he shifted. Making a small noise in the back of his throat as the arm he'd flung across her waist sometime during the night tightened a fraction. It made her want to surge up and have him again. To feel him come apart inside her like he had only hours before, too exhausted and worn to make it last.

Only she didn't.

And yes, there _was_ willpower involved.

But at the end of the day there was something else to it.

Something just as powerful as what they were now, here, _together_.

It was the heavy stuff they hadn't managed to get to yet.

But they would.

She knew they would.

They'd come too far for too long for this to mean anything else.

* * *

Her smiled gained new curves and creases as she looked over at him. Reaching up every so often to ghost her fingers through the scruff of his beard. Even after all this time it was still a novelty. On the Ark he'd never let it grow. Ever since she'd known him he'd cultivated his austere public persona by remaining clean shaven at all times. She could admit that she'd never thought to look deeper when it came to him back then. But of course, it had only been one mask fitted snugly on top of another - recognizable only through hindsight.

_But on the ground?_

_Well, it was safe to say that more than a few things had changed._

It'd taken some getting used to, but ultimately she liked it. It added a layer. It didn't soften the angles of his face, not quite - rather it added something. Something that spoke of home, comfort and wholesomely familiar things. It was a visceral reminder of how far he'd come. How far they'd _both_ come. And while he could certainly do with a trim, she hoped it was here to stay.

She was still running her fingers through it absently, light enough not to wake him, when he stirred. Letting go of a suspicious sound, like a moan but lower as he tucked his face into the curve of his chin and arced in place. Squirming into the pillows like she was tickling him, but without any of the urgency. She watched the entire thing from start to finish, delighted at the display as his movements grew languid and indulgent, accompanying a spaced-out expression that was just shy of dopey as he shifted closer.

She had about a half-second to internalize the rarity of the moment before she felt it.

Her eyes widened a fraction when he firmed against her side. Cock fattening with a base-line throb that matched the hum of his pulse as it settled in the narrow jut of her hip. Clearly interested in the proceedings as she continued rasping the tips of her nails through his beard.

And- oh.

_Oh._

_Well, then._

Her smile dawned slow and Cheshire-wide across her face. Muffling a peal of laughter into the inner of her palm as he slept right through the warm, low-simmering hilarity of it all. Allowing her fingers to get a bit more adventurous as they scritch-scratched just under his chin. Emboldened by the sound that left him as he turned further into the press of her hand. Clearly wanting more.

She had a feeling she was going to enjoy abusing that little piece of information a whole a lot in the future.

Because as far as she was concerned, with them, no matter what happened, there would _always_ be a later.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- The title, "pogonophile" is a word meaning: "one who loves beards."


End file.
